Sunday, 2 May 2010

Scouting for Girls

I have indeed slept with a Tory. I speak of Senor Boldon, of course (the grumpy and misanthropic brother of self proclaimed fanny-magnet, Rochester). Not only was Senor Boldon a Tory, but he also seemed to hold Maggie Thatcher in terribly high-regard. I forgave him such perplexing eccentricities, as it gave me plenty of opportunity for gentle teasing and mocking. Senor Boldon took this very well. His general response to my nuttiness was to just shake his head and mutter exasperatingly 'for fuck's sake, Elizabeth'.

I am not sure I could sleep with a Lib Dem. For a start, the teasing and mocking would not be an option, as Lib Dems do seem to be rather dry and humorless bunch. But worse than that, can you imagine Lib Dem sex? A night of gentle, respectful, consensual, feathery-stroking* on undyed, fair-trade bedding with only the prospect of granola and herbal tea for breakfast? The horror! Think of the foreplay, it would go on for hours (he would probably have a checklist to work through, downloaded from The Guardian Women's page and printed on recycled paper). Even if all you utterly desire is to be thrown across the kitchen table and taken roughly amidst the condiments, then no, I am sorry, with a Lib Dem you will be gravely disappointed. It wouldn't show enough 'respect' you see, enough 'sensitivity'. And the odds of getting a deliciously greasy post-coital breakfast of bacon and eggs are slim to none too.

Speaking of the crazily politically correct, I was amused to read that Rochester's adopted city of Bristol was up in arms about a planned visit from the sweetly beautiful burlesque artist, Dita Vin Teese. She had been commissioned to open a new exhibition. Did you know that in Bristol, children are forced to sit SATs in gender stereotyping, cultural diversity and how to complete the Guardian crossword? Anyway, local government do-gooders had their tassels in a twist about the whole thing.

'I am a gender equality consultant and I have been unable among all my professional colleagues to find a single expert on gender equality who does not agree that this event acts against the interests of women’s equality.'

'I am appalled and bitterly disappointed at the lack of gender equality awareness demonstrated thus far.'

'This amounts to a public body spending public money on the gratuitous debasement of women. Bristol City Council has a legal obligation to promote equality so should be supporting women, not demeaning them.'

Oh, for heaven's sake. I emailed Rochester, to find out where he stood in the great 'Bristols 4 Bristol' debate. But, it appears, the flaky fanny rat is going through one of his awkward phases again. He does infuriate me. One minute he is getting in touch and suggesting a drink, the next it is like communicating with the dead. Oddly, when I was with Senor Boldon (pre-Rochester) he would always speak of how darn unreliable his brother was, how chaotic his brother's life was. Of course, I had no way of knowing that I was destined to fall in love with the ramshackle rogue myself, 2 years later. It really was a match from hell though - the union of someone terminally insecure (me) with someone terminally unreliable (him).

Now. Sunday means one thing, of course, tea and scones in Newcastle with Madam Noir. Madam Noir is at a crossroads in her life, she is facing a possible redundancy situation. Despite my best efforts I cannot convince her to consider a new career in teaching. She appears to have set her heart on working as a John Lewis shopgirl. I predict if that does indeed comes to pass then she will be bankrupt within 3 months. Still, I do like the thought of having access to her staff-discount for the Lola Rose, Alex Monroe, Bobbi Brown and L'Occitane counters.

There was a rather amusing moment in town, Madam Noir, who has the grace and co-ordination of a Bambi on ice, crashed into a stand of CDs in HMV. What CDs did the gothic lezza send flying? Only the latest release by 'Scouting for Girls', of course.

* Marian Keyes describes namby pamby Lib Dem sex perfectly in her book Anybody Out There.  She calls purveyors of such a technique 'feathery strokers'.

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